The Hanging Tree
by OfficiallyNonOfficial
Summary: Snow is a monster. He has taken everything he can possibly take from Katniss. Even herself. Alma Coin and District 13 aren't entirely without blame. They have taken from her, too. They've taken her freedom, her spirit, her fire. On the verge of self destruction, Katniss finds support, friendship, and eventually love in the most unlikely of people. Johanna Mason. Joniss.
1. Not So Different

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games nor do I make any profit from writing THG fanfiction. **

**Yes. I'm back to writing. Why? Because I am almost done with college and I plan to take time off which means I'll have time to write again :) Please forgive me for the inconsistencies in my writing. I hope I haven't put you all off permanently. FYI I've already written 6 chapters and my posting them depends entirely on how the first chapter is received. It's been a while since I've written anything but articles or resumes so I would appreciate some constructive criticism. Be aware that I have no beta so there might be some (but not many) minor grammatical errors. **

** Btw, this is a Katniss/Johanna story. I am aware that there are a lot people who don't agree with this couple or with female/female male/male relationships in general. You are entitled to your opinion. However, I must insist that if this is not your cup of tea, that you desist from making any derogatory/hateful comments. The keys words here are "CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM." I also ask that you extend this courtesy to my fellow writers.**

**Cheers!**

* * *

Is there ever a right moment to long for death? If so, when does that moment take place? Is it when you've volunteered to take someone's death sentence upon yourself, well aware of all the horrors that await you? Is it when you realize your life is no longer yours, but has become a freakshow- a source of entertainment for the masses? Is it when you realize you're responsible for the decimation of your home and people, and will be held liable for the death of thousands more?

I've reached a critical point in what I can loosely call my life. I've reached the point where I realize with a cold, unfailing certainty that there is a worse fate than dying, and that I am a prisoner to that fate...

When I finally begin to surface into the sterile hospital room in district 13, I'm quite frankly shocked that I'm not dead. Once again, I _should _be dead. But I'm not. I'm beginning to think that death is too good for me, that I deserve to rot in this nightmarish world for all the things I've done. For all the people that I've hurt, and for all the people that I've killed. The last thing I remember is the sound of a gun as loud as a cannon. As loud as the missles that bombed 13 and just as destructive. Then there's pain. Not like the piercing pain I expected from a bullet, but a blunt, bone crushing kind of pain.

There's shouting and screaming. The sound of dozens of feet scrambling. Gun fire. Then nothing. Then there's Peeta's voice. The old Peeta- the one who can paint a perfect picture of a sunset with his words and throws bread to starving girls at his expense. There's another voice. Distorted and unfamiliar, but familiar all the same. It's not right. It doesn't belong here.

Brainless. The only word I can make out is brainless, and the voice keeps saying it over and over again.

I open my eyes. I react badly to the bright lights. They send a stab of pain to my head, make me nauseaous. And all of these things I'm feeling, though terribly bothersome, are a sign that I'm alive. So here I am. Still breathing. Still trapped with no way out...

I lay there, mulling over my morbid thoughts when the white curtain that divides my bed from the next patient's whips back, and Johanna Mason stares down at me. At first I feel threatened. And with good reason. From the moment we first met, Johanna has shown nothing but contempt for me. She attacked me long before we ever set foot in that arena. First in the elevator when she felt the need to get naked in front of me, Peeta, and Haymitch. Then off stage before I was called to do my interview with Caesar Flickerman.

I have to remind myself that it's nothing personal. Johanna is crass and callous with everyone as far as I can tell.

"You're alive." I croak and wince. My throat feels like someone shoved a handful of sand down it. I don't know why I felt the need to state the obvious. For confirmation?

"Apparently you are, too. You're like a cockroach or something." She comes over and drops down on my bed, jarring me. A sharp, stabbing pain shoots through my chest. It's so intense I'm momentarily paralyzed, vocal cords and all. Johanna grins at my obvious discomfort. "Still a little sore?" She asks caustically. With an expert hand, she reaches over and quickly detaches the morphling drip from my arm and plugs it into a socket taped into the crook of her own. Moments later she sighs in relief, as if a large burden has been lifted from her shoulders. When she speaks again her voice has lost some of its sharpness. Sounds more wistful. "Maybe they were onto something in 6. Drug yourself up and paint flowers on your body. It's not such a bad life," She says with a shrug. "They seemed happier than the rest of us, anyway."

I try to imagine what it would be like living under the constant influence of these drugs. Mind so muddled you can't tell which way is up or down. No worries because nothing else matters as long as there's a constant drip of synthetic happiness. My mind conjures up an image of the emaciated, half dead Morphlings from district 6 and I decide I don't quite share Johanna's opinion.

I find myself wondering about Johanna. There were times in that arena when I swore she was going to bury her axe in the back of my head. There were also times when she showed such kindness to me even if it didn't seem like it at the time.

_...It's over. The jabberjays are gone._

_My eyes stay squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Are my ears bleeding? I feel as if they are. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins. What have they done to Prim? To Gale and my mother? I look at Finnick, dulled eyed and slack jawed. What have they done to Annie? _

_Peeta remains on his knees beside me, trying to soothe me, but I find no comfort in his words. "You didn't hear them." I whisper, haunted by the experience. _

"_I heard Prim. Right in the beginning. But it wasn't her, Katniss. It was just a jabberjay."_

_It's so easy for him to say that, to disregard what just happened. It wasn't his sister and mother screaming, wailing for help. _

"_They were torturing her," I mumble. "She's probably dead. She-"_

_Someone grabs me roughly by the shoulders, hauling me up to my feet. I come face to face with a very stern faced Johanna. I faintly register the urge to punch her but my arms hang limply at my sides._

"_Why don't you shut up for a second and think, brainless?" She growls. "The whole country adores your little sister. If the Capitol killed her like this, they'd probably have an uprising on their hands. As much as Snow hates your guts, and trust me he's not the only one, he doesn't want an uprising, does he?" She says flatly. She shoves herself away from me, glares at the sky. "The whole country in rebellion? Wouldn't want anything like that!"_

_My mouth drop opens in shock. No one, ever, says anything like this in the Games. The game makers are certainly cutting away from her, are editing out whatever managed to get on camera. But I heard her, and despite my almost instinctual dislike for her, I can never think about her in the same way again. She'll never win any awards for kindness, but she's gutsy. Or crazy. _

_Her attention turns back to me. There's something in her expression that puts me on edge. I don't have the enegry to figure out why. "I'll get you some water." She says._

_I can't help catching her hand as she passes me by. "Don't go in there. The birds-" _

_She frees her hand with an impatient shake. "They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left that I love." When she returns with the water I take it with a grateful nod of my head, knowing how much she'll despise the pity I know will be in my voice if I speak. _

_No. I'll never look at Johanna Mason the same. She just did what even Peeta, with his reassuring voice and strong, protective arms, couldn't do. She broke though to me. She made me feel safe. If not from the physical word then at the very least from my own thoughts. _

I come back to the present. Johanna shoots me a look that says pay attention.

"They've got this head doctor who comes around every day. Supposed to be helping me recover. Like some guy whose spent his life in this rabbit warren's going to fix me up." She scoffs with a roll of her eyes. That's more like the Johanna I remember. Honestly, I don't know what to think of her sitting here making small talk. "At least twenty times a session he reminds me that I'm safe." I manage a wry smile. It's a very stupid thing to say to someone who's been promised safety before only to be hauled off to be killed. Twice. Three times if you count the time spent as a prisoner of the Capitol. "How about you, Mockingjay? Do you feel safe?"

"Oh, yeah. Right up until I got shot."

"Please," She says flippantly, "That bullet never touched you. Cinna saw to that."

Cinna. Another name to add to the ever growing list of people I got killed. My final memory is of his limp body getting dragged off by the Peacemakers who beat him unconscious. His crime was knowing me.

A lump forms in my throat. It feels like I'm going to choke until I feel an unsteady, sweaty hand cradle my clenched fist. A fist I wasn't even aware I was making. I find myself staring into a pair of troubled hazel eyes. How come I never noticed how much pain is in those eyes?

"Whatever you're thinking, stop it. There's nothing you could have done." She commands in a tone I believed her incapable of using. It's comforting. Sympathetic. Understanding. It's all there. In the way the hard lines of her face smooth over as she looks at me. In the way she tries so hard to be seem unbreakable. Untouchable.

She knows what it's like.

All of this time I felt so alone. Like no one could possibly share the burden of my faults and sins. But all this time the people who experienced what I have and more were right in front of me. The lump returns. It's for an entirely different reason. How many deaths is Johanna responsible for? Does she see the blood of the deceased on her hands even when there's nothing there? Does she dream about them at night? Hear their screams? Feel their accusing eyes on her? I was so quick to judge. So quick to assume she really was this vain, vapid tribute. Just another puppet forged for the Capitol. Another pretty thing to distract every one from the truth. Rich or poor, Capitol or not, they're are all just pawns playing in a losing game.

_Even I'm a pawn. I'm the biggest one of them all._

I see Johanna Mason in a new light. She is no longer that narsisstic, arrogant tribute from 7 with no care or concern for anyone but herself. Hell, I don't even see her as an ally anymore. In this private, intimate moment with Johanna revealing her true self to me _however indirectly it may be_, I see her for what she really is. A scared young girl forced to take on the world. Just like me.

With everything that has happened between us, I can no longer trust Gale. He's so focused on the revolution, so consumed by grief and hate that I hardly recognize him anymore. He's not the boy from 12 that used to hunt with me and give me pieces of his hard earned bread so I could feed my family when I turned up short. He's not the boy who promised to look after my mother and Prim when I was dragged away to the Capitol. He's not the friend I've come to love and cherish.

He's a war hardened soldier who's seen too much blood and death to be affected by it any longer. When he suggested we kill those workers in the Nut, I knew without a doubt that Gale and I could never be what we used to be.

Who does that leave in my corner? Haymitch? I can't trust him as far as I can throw him. All of this is his fault in the first place. He played us until the very end. How can I trust someone like him? And Peeta? Peeta hates me. Truly hates me. He's convinced I'm a mutt and the sole reason for all of this. Give him just a seond, and he'd have my head hand delivered to Snow on a silver platter. Finnick is too busy with Annie, and I wouldn't want to drag him any further into this mess than I already have. He deserves to be happy, to live out the rest of his life content with the woman of his dreams. Prim is out of the question. I know she's more mature than I give her credit for, but if I can keep just a little of this taint from reaching her, I will.

That leaves Johanna Mason. Johanna's the closest thing to an ally I have left. The irony of all this is not lost on me. When she stumbled out of the jungle in that arena and Finnick ran to her, I though, _Even if I had a list of allies, Johanna Mason would certainly not be on it._ We sit in silence for a few minutes. When it gets to be too much, I ask the one question no one seems to have a straight answer for.

"How do you live with it?" No explanation is required. She knows. I know by the haggard look on her face that she knows.

Johanna sighs. It sounds tired. Defeated. She rakes her shaky fingers across her scalp, revealing a quarter sized bald spot near her hairline. A token to remember her time with Snow.

"Who says I do?"

I frown. I want to ask her what she means but before I can pry, Gale appears in the doorway, and Johanna quickly unhooks herself and reattaches me to the morphling drip. She scoots off my bed and crosses to the door, nudging Gale's leg with her hip. "Hey gorgeous." She purrs, then disappears down the hall.

Just like that the Johanna Mason from the arena is back. I have to pinch my arm in order to convince myself I'm awake, and that the last twenty minutes really happened. It's almost like there's two people inside of her battling for dominance. Every now and then the more appealing side wins out.

"Is she bothering you?" Gale asks, his eyes on the IV connected to my arm. I glance down and spot a drop of blood rolling down the crook of my elbow. Johanna wasn't exactly gentle when she yanked it out.

"No."

Gale looks at me suspiciously, but he doesn't push it. He lingers around for an hour before he's called out to Command. When he leaves I realize I didn't pay attention to a single word he said. The reason behind my distraction bothers me. It's a certain dark haired victor with a penchant for trouble.

_What are you up to, Johanna?_ She's still playing a part, but there's no audience here. No cameras...

The answer evades me then comes to me so effortlessly. As if it's always been there in the back of my mind and I just had to call it forth. Johanna is doing what I have been doing for the past year. She is playing a part, but it's not for an audience. It's not for Snow or the Capitol or the districts. It's for herself. Disconnecting is all she can do to keep herself from falling apart...

I guess we aren't all that different after all.

Oddly enough, the thought comforts me.


	2. Cake

**AN: Hmm... Not quite the reception I was hoping for, but eh what the fuck? :) I already wrote it so might as well post it, right? So here's Ch2. Thank you very much sinuk for that lovely review. It's always nice to get some insight from a fellow writer and such a fantastic one at that. Phoenix2312- Here's more ;) I hope you enjoy it. **

**Flashbacks and important words/thoughts are in italics. **

**Cheers!**

* * *

_Finnick breaks the uncomfortable silence. "I can't believe Cinna put you in that thing." _

"_He didn't have a choice. President Snow made him." I say defensively. I won't let anyone criticize Cinna. Not when he's the only person who made me feel like an actual human being when everyone else was content to treat me like an animal or some prop._

_Cashmere tosses her flowing blonde curls back. "Well, you look ridiculous!"_

"_Not as ridiculous as you do." Johanna struts up to her, a predatory smile on her face. She circles Cashmere, eyeing her like she's prey. "If you're aiming to blind the audience then you're doing a splendid job, dear. If I have to look at that get up any longer, I'll gouge my own eyes out."_

_Cashmere's face twists in anger. "Let me do it for you!" She lunges, fingers curled like talons. Her brother grabs her around the waist and yanks her back. "We're on." He says, pulling her towards the stage._

"_Good luck, sweetie!" Johanna laughs. Cashmere shouts back a few choice words. Did Johanna just stick up for me? She hates me. We hate each other, don't we? She catches me staring. Her infamous scowl is back. "What?"_

"_Thanks."_

"_Don't over think it. I hate that bitch. She's as fake as Flickerman's tan." That makes sense. She walks up to me and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. Her hand lingers for a moment. I can't decipher the look on her face. At last she says, "Make him pay for it, okay?" I nod, but I don't know what she means. Johanna can tell. She's perceptive. "Snow is using you as an example. This is what will happen to anyone who tries to defy me. Turn it around on him. Don't let him use you..."_

What do you do with yourself when you realize your only worth in this life is as a tool? I have been used all of my life. The Capitol used me to provide its necessities until I volunteered as tribute. Then it used me as entertainment, as something for people to point and "oh!" and "ah!" at. When the game couldn't kill me, they used me as a message to anyone out there who dare think of rebelling. My insubordination would not go unpunished.

I was finally rescued from the Capitol, from that dictator Snow, only to be handed off to another. First I was their symbol of freedom, the Mockingjay. The girl whose spark ignited a flame that lit the world on fire. Then they wrote me off. I have no purpose in their war but to look pretty and spit out the lines they feed me. And I'm not even good at that. I thought escaping from President Snow meant I would be free. They took from the frying pan and tossed me straight into a roaring fire. How fitting. I _am _the girl on fire after all.

It's the night of Finnick and Annie's wedding. Everyone is dancing and having a good time. Finnick and Annie are smiling so wide it hurts _my _face. I'm happy for them. After everything they have been through they deserve to get a happily ever after. I can't say I know what that's like. It's what was promised to the tributes. Win the games—win a worry free life of excess and luxury. It's what the Capitol assured Peeta and I we'd won. I survived. I emerged victorious. I saved Prim. I _should_ get to go home and dive into a mountain full of gifts and pretend all the badness never happened.

I should have known better. People like me don't get a happily ever after. My happily ever after would have been a mouthful of poisonous berries. At least that way I would have taken back control from the Capitol. I would have gone out on my own terms and district 12 would still be standing. Thousands of people would still be alive. None of this would be happening.

Sometimes I think about the berries, about the moment that changed it all. Even now I can't figure out why I did it. Did I really do it to save Peeta? Did I do it to save my own skin? Did I do it to anger Snow? Was it just an act forged out of desperation? The more I think about it the more unclear my motives become. If I'd killed Peeta, the Capitol would have won. My district would never forgive me. I couldn't have known Seneca Crane would allow us to live when I held up those berries to Peeta. I was truly prepared to die. To end it all.

Everyone thinks I did it because I couldn't possibly bare living in a world without my love. That couldn't be the furthest thing from the truth. Only one thought crossed my mind in that moment before the berries reached my mouth, before Claudius cried out for us to stop.

_I hope you're safe, Prim._

Greasy Sae grabs Gale by the hand and pulls him into the center of the floor and faces off with him. People pour in to join them, forming two long lines. And the dancing begins. It's an old song the people from district 12 are familiar with. Soon the room is full of people twirling, laughing, and having a good time.

I'm standing off to the side, clapping to the rhythm, watching Prim grab a timid young girl and haul her off to dance. Prim smiles reassuringly, slowly teaching her some of the steps. The redhead tries to follow but ends up nearly knocking them both over. My little sister laughs, assures her she's doing great. The redhead laughs too and seems a little more at ease as Prim continues to instruct her. Within minutes they're both dancing like they've been doing it their entire lives. I smile. The whole thing makes my heart soar. For a fleeting moment I've accomplished what I set out to do. I saved Prim. Not just from a destitute life, but from a life of pain, uncertainty, and fear.

Someone pinches my arm, tearing my attention away from the celebration. Johanna Mason scowls at me.

I haven't seen her since that day in the hospital. We were never friends. We never pretended to be anything other than tolerant of each other and sometimes not even that. So when I realize she's been avoiding me at all costs, and that deep down it bothers me, I frown.

"What do you want?" I ask impolitely, crossing my arms over my chest, trying not to notice her appearance.

Plutarch thought Finnick and Annie's wedding presented the perfect opportunity for a propo- A way of shoving it in Snow's face that we are neither broken nor defeated. Of course Plutarch, being a native of the Capitol, quickly set out to make it as extravagant as possible. Coin didn't agree but made no move to stop him.

Finnick and Annie borrowed some clothes from Peeta and I, and I have to admit they look even more stunning in them than we did. The rest of the guests are dressed in the standard drab gray uniforms of district 13. The exceptions are Gale, who is wearing his dark blue military uniform. Dalton, the cattle guy from 10, is dressed in a very simple yet handsome 3 piece suit. Plutarch shoved me inside the dress I wore during my first interview with Caesar. And then there's Johanna.

The first time I laid eyes on her, she wore this strange, dress made to make her look like a tree to represent her district. Her hair was done up in an eccentric do, and she wore layers of unflattering makeup. Tonight she is dressed in a very simple emerald dress. It's sleeveless and backless, styled like a halter from the top, and brushes all the way down past her ankles. Her hair is down, just barely touching her shoulders. And her face is refreshing bare. She looks natural. Beautiful. Almost innocent.

Almost.

There's a haunted look in her eyes that speaks of the countless horrors she's witnessed. No amount of makeup in the world can hide it. What has been seen cannot be unseen, what is done cannot be undone. Innocence can never be restored to someone as damaged as her. To someone as damaged as me.

She fidgets under my stare, looking as uncomfortable as I did in the Capitol. Johanna is not the fidgeting type, so I can only assume she's having a hard time with the Morphling. "Don't look so stunned. Plutarch wants all the victors to look as good as possible." I have to hand it to Plutarch. It's a great idea. "Are you going to miss the chance to let Snow see you dancing?"

She's right. What could spell victory louder than a happy Mockingjay twirling around to music? But I don't believe she took the time to seek me out just to tell me to dance.

"Wha-"

Johanna is gone. I catch a glimpse of her back as she exits the makeshift ball room. Her behavior is troubling, but I don't have the time to dwell on it. I join Prim and her friend in their dance.

Hours later I'm on the verge of a break down, hiding in the supply closet that has become a sort of panic room for me. I just had a talk with Peeta, per his request, and things went as expected. Utterly terrible. In fact, after that conversation I'm sure I hate him. I hate him because now he sees me for what I truly am. A monster. A selfish brat. Someone nobody likes. Ugly.

I can't say I didn't expect it. He's been tortured and conditioned to believe I am the enemy. What I didn't expect were his words to hurt me so much. They stung like tracker jackers and even now I feel their poison running through my veins. All of this just confirms what I already know. Snow is winning. He holds no physical influence over Peeta, but he has still found a way to break me through him.

I lose track of time again, my mind wandering and never staying too long on any one thing. I think of how clever I am to hide here where no one thinks to look for me except Gale. I want to be left alone to lick my wounds. These people are like sharks- one drop of blood sends them into a feeding frenzy.

The door is yanked open, and Johanna storms in with an irritated look on her face. She slams the door shut with such force it cracks down the middle. "Fuck! I hate weddings. They're so damn noisy! It's annoying." She says in disgust as she works her way to the back of the closet to join me. It is a relatively small room built to house a handful of school supplies. When Johanna finally settles, we're more than a little cramped. We're shoulder to shoulder. Just about sitting in each other's lap.

I swallow, thrown by this unwarranted proximity after zero contact for nearly a week. I hide my unease with a scoff. "Are you ever _not _in a bad mood?"

"When I'm unconscious." She says with a sickly sweet smile, batting her thick, dark lashes.

I roll my eyes. "How did you find me anyway?"

"Please princess, you're so predictable."

"You must be feeling better. You're back to your old self."

Johanna tenses for a split second then relaxes. "So why are you here? Have a spat with lover boy did you?"

Her words hurt. I stare at my hands. All the frustration and anger drain away, leaving me with something I've become all too accustomed to. Guilt. Helplessness. I failed Peeta. I couldn't save him and now he's suffering. It's my fault he's like that. "Something like that." I mutter, leaning my head back against the wall. There's nothing to see. I wish I was back in 12, out in the woods under a blanket of stars. A million light years away from this place and this war.

"Don't beat yourself up over it. It's not like you're the one who decided to leave us in the arena." Johanna says, her tone laced with contempt. I know she's tough. I know she can hold her own and tries very hard not to let the pain of what's happened to her show, but I see it. I see it in these little moments when that carefully constructed mask of hers slips and she's not even aware of it. She's hurt that we left her behind to die. Hurt that after she so willingly sacrificed herself for the cause, she wasn't worth saving in Plutarch or Coin's eyes.

How did I miss this before? The stubborn tough guy act. It should be familiar to me. I've played this role before. I'm _still _playing it. I sigh. I don't pretend to have Johanna figured out. I can't even figure myself out. But I can relate to her, and it takes away my desire to be spiteful.

"Then whose fault is it?"

She shrugs. "Haymitch's? Plutarch's? Coin's? I don't know. I just know that it's not yours."

I'm grateful for that. I don't believe it, but I'm grateful she can see something in me that I can't—That I'm not a total monster. "I know saying sorry won't change what happened, but I am."

She opens her mouth to say something. I mentally prepare myself for what I know will be a tongue lashing to remember. She just nods.

We spend an hour in silence, both of us lost in our own heads, before either of us has the nerve to speak again. Johanna breaks the silence, and when she speaks I sense that something has changed. She seems... lighter somehow. Less burdened. "I bet if we hurry we can steal some leftovers before the kitchen takes them."' I stare at her. "What?"

"That's just so unexpected coming from you." I say, doing nothing to conceal my bewilderment.

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises. Stick around."

She stands stiffly, cursing about being sore and too old for this, and offers me a hand. I take it. Wince when my ribs flare up. Johanna raises a brow. I brush it off. Stealing food from 13 is too tempting to pass up. At the very least it will ruffle Coin's feathers. _Johanna must be rubbing off on me. _

"So... Cake?"

She grins. "There may be hope for you yet, girl on fire."

I hope her legs move as fast as her mouth.


End file.
